


incinerate

by yubat (mintea)



Category: B.A.P, K-pop
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mutants, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-09-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 17:03:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2277738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintea/pseuds/yubat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Only mutants with flashy powers are hired for jobs like the one Youngjae has. Those who can catch people’s attention, pull in a crowd, give people something to stare at. In that respect Youngjae is perfect for the job: his powers are, quite literally, flashy. (mutant!au)</p>
            </blockquote>





	incinerate

**Author's Note:**

> For [kyumyeon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kyumyeon) in [tbb](http://thebrowniebunch.livejournal.com) 2014.
> 
> I wanted to write your Youngjae/Sunhwa prompt but somehow this happened instead. I am so sorry.
> 
> A giant thank you to Willow and Jin. I would not have survived this without you guys ♥

Lower Seoul is always hazy. Youngjae isn’t sure if it’s some sort of natural phenomenon, a byproduct of wind currents and dust blown over from China, or if it’s a conscious effort by a weather manipulator to block the government’s surveillance efforts. No matter the reason, Youngjae knows for certain that Upper Seoul, the area north of the Han River where the non-mutant population had retreated following the Divisional Riots, never has nearly as much smog.

Youngjae leaves the street and heads down into the subway station. It’s weird to think that the area he’s in now had once been the homeground of Korea’s high rollers. Only the legacy of their wealth remains, in towering high rises above ground and faded advertisements for plastic surgery clinics and designer brands in the subway. Underneath Youngjae’s sneakers the tiled floor is cracked, and above his head the flickering lights cast eerie shadows on the crowds of people rushing through.

It’s nearing 8 p.m. and Youngjae is heading against the flow of human traffic. Gangnam station was famous for its underground shopping mall before the riots; these days it’s still the main shopping hub in Lower Seoul, despite the deterioration of the building’s condition. The shopping and the nightlife above on Gangnam’s streets pull in people from all over. Mutants might not be allowed to leave Lower Seoul without a special permit, but non-mutants are allowed to come and go at will. There’s a certain draw for thrillseekers, those who want to explore the “other side.” Those are the people who end up in the seedy nightclubs that have replaced what were once upscale restaurants, watching strippers who can change the color of their skin and being served by bartenders who levitate their shakers.

Those are also the people Youngjae wants nothing to do with. No, his interests lie with the slightly less adventurous types – the people who want to gawk at a mutant in the safety of their own territory north of the river. This is why Youngjae fights his way against the Saturday evening crush flowing into Gangnam and hops on a train heading west. The train he’s on isn’t empty by any means; Youngjae squishes in between tired businessmen and students. This is the part of Lower Seoul that the thrillseekers don’t want to see, the part that looks uncomfortably similar to their own lives. This is the part that the government would gladly shut down altogether, if they could do it without causing an international uproar over human rights. As it is, they grudgingly keep the subway running south of the river and grumble over the waste of taxpayer money during elections.

The closer to the western river crossing point the subway gets, the more quickly it empties out. Eventually the car empties out completely, leaving Youngjae and his dufflebag alone. When the train finally jerks to a halt in Dangsan and the messages detailing mandatory disembarkment start to play, Youngjae leaves the train and joins the few people getting out of other cars as they head to the mandatory security checkpoint. 

There are separate lines for mutants and non-mutants. Youngjae watches with envy as the non-mutants simply have their ID card and thumbprint scanned before quickly being waved through. The tattoo on the back of Youngjae’s neck marking him as a mutant feels like it’s burning. Youngjae’s own passage is rarely ever as smooth.

Today is no exception. The guards know him – Youngjae knows that they do, because he comes through at the exact same time every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, and he certainly knows _them_ – but despite Youngjae’s government-issued permit for a government-issued job, they still hum and haw while poking through his dufflebag and watch him suspiciously from the corner of their eyes. By the time the guards finally wave him through, Youngjae is on edge. He’s been doing this for years, but time hasn’t made being treated like some sort of dangerous animal any more tolerable.

Youngjae reboards the subway and gets off two stops later at Hongdae. This time when he exits the train he joins the crowd surging upwards toward the street. Youngjae hugs his dufflebag to his chest as he fends off stray elbows and endures the final crush heading up the last flight of stairs. When at last he emerges from the subway entrance, the balmy evening air is a relief. It’s still crowded outside, and Youngjae is jostled along with the flow past street vendors selling everything from socks to snacks, but at least it’s possible to breathe again.

Youngjae checks in with the guards in charge of his supervision at 8:30 sharp. The official job title for the guards is “handlers,” but neither Youngjae nor any of the other mutants who work this gig are fooled. The government may have reserved a prime busking area and then hired mutants to fill that space in shifts during the nights – to “showcase their talents” on paper, and to make the government money off of their abilities in reality – but that doesn’t mean they’re taking any chances. The mutants are monitored every second that they’re working, to make sure that the performances they put on are entertaining but not dangerous. Youngjae also suspects that the guards are there to ensure that no mutants make a run for it and disappear into the Upper Seoul nightlife. 

There are two other mutants on shift right now, and eventually two others will come in to replace them. The boy putting on a show right now looks young, his baby face further softened by a mess of blond curls. He’s tall, Youngjae thinks. He can’t be certain, though, because the kid’s mutation seems to be some sort of elasticity. His arms are currently at least three times longer than they should be. It makes Youngjae feel slightly queasy to look at, but the small crowd gathered around him is absolutely enthralled, mouths hanging open as they watch with unabashed awe. 

Youngjae shivers despite the warm night and edges away down the street. He won’t be on for at least another 15 minutes, and the guards don’t mind if the mutants wander a bit as long as they stay within sight. Youngjae drifts over to another busker who is just setting up. The guy is sitting on the edge of a concrete planter as he tunes his guitar, and already a small crowd has gathered around. Youngjae recognizes him, and immediately wishes that he’d just stayed watching elasticity boy instead. Daehyun is a regular run-of-the-mill street performer, all mediocre guitar playing and breathtaking vocals.

He is also anything but shy, and has made his interest in Youngjae clear from the very first time he saw Youngjae performing. 

Youngjae is contemplating trying to slip away again when Daehyun looks up and scans the crowd. When he notices Youngjae he immediately breaks into a grin. “Hey,” he says. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

Several people turn to stare at Youngjae, including a couple girls who look like they wish the words had been directed at them instead. Youngjae automatically hunches over further, clutching his dufflebag like a shield. He wants to walk off without replying, but people are watching, so he says, “Of course I’m here. I work here at the same time every week.”

“Yeah, I know,” Daehyun says, strumming a few chords on his guitar. Youngjae expects him to drag the conversation on, forcing Youngjae to make more uncomfortable small talk. Instead, Daehyun finishes up with his guitar and then launches into his first song. Youngjae watches until one of the guards comes to pull him away for his own performance. 

Most mutants resent jobs like the one Youngjae has. They call it dehumanizing, and Youngjae completely agrees. But Youngjae is also nothing if not opportunistic – he had to be, to survive growing up on his own in Lower Seoul’s foster care system. If he can make money off of the non-mutants’ need for something to gawk at, then so be it. He has always been fond of performing, anyway.

Only mutants with flashy powers are hired for jobs like the one Youngjae has. Those who can catch people’s attention, pull in a crowd, give people something to stare at. In that respect Youngjae is perfect for the job: his powers are, quite literally, flashy. He rolls flames through his fingertips, shoots flares into the sky, lights the tips of the sparklers he pulls from his dufflebag and hands out to the audience. He even dabbles in firebreathing on occasion, although he prefers to stick to smaller tricks more akin to sleight of hand.

The problem, and the reason the agent who Youngjae had done his job interview with had been reluctant to hire him to start with, is that Youngjae’s powers are also extremely dangerous. Youngjae himself may be immune to heat and burns, but the flames he plays with are lethal. 

Regardless of the danger, people still flock to him. Youngjae knows for a fact that he is one of the most popular street performers this side of the river. Even if people don’t specifically seek him out, he can draw a crowd effortlessly. Tonight is no different, and by the time he finishes his first performance – he will perform at least four more times, rotating with the other mutants on shift, before he gets off close to 1 a.m. – there is a decent number of people gathered around. 

When the last of his final act dissipates into smoke, Youngjae bows with a flourish amid the applause. Youngjae is high on the adrenaline that floods in every time he uses his powers, combined with the headiness that comes with performing. The feeling sours in his stomach, though, when he catches Daehyun out of the corner of his eye. Daehyun is at the edge of the crowd, clapping enthusiastically even as everyone else starts to disperse, and Youngjae knows what will happen next. After all, it’s the same thing that happens almost every Saturday.

“Good show today,” Daehyun says, sidling over while Youngjae finishes zipping up the duffle. The first time Daehyun had approached Youngjae, the guards had carefully and suspiciously watched the entire exchange. Now they barely even blink. 

“Thank you,” Youngjae replies. The words are habitual now, an automatic response without feeling. Youngjae shuffles off to the side so that the next performer, a kid with purple hair, can start setting up. Daehyun matches him step by step. Next Daehyun will start some small talk, asking Youngjae his opinions on the crowds tonight or the weather lately. Youngjae will reply politely, _yes, there seem to be a lot of people out tonight; it’s been cooling down lately, you can feel autumn approaching._ Then something will come up and one of them will wander off, and the night will continue on its way.

Today, though, Daehyun does something different. Instead of launching into a weather analysis, he asks, “Do you want to go get some coffee?”

Youngjae stops abruptly. “Coffee?” he asks dumbly, staring at Daehyun. Daehyun grins, obviously amused by Youngjae’s surprise.

“Yeah,” Daehyun says, “you know that thing that you buy and then drink, and then you sit around chatting?” 

“I know what coffee is,” Youngjae replies curtly. He’s regarding Daehyun warily now. Daehyun has never been shy about showing his interest in Youngjae, but this is the first time he’s tried something quite so direct. It immediately puts Youngjae on edge. “The guards won’t allow me out of their sight,” Youngjae hedges. 

“Then I can go buy us some, and bring it back here.” Daehyun is full of bravado, but Youngjae can see how tightly he’s gripping the strap of his guitar case. Under other circumstances it might be endearing. As it is, Youngjae’s stomach is twisting into knots – and not the good kind. 

Youngjae knows Daehyun’s type. He sees them every time he walks through Lower Seoul’s entertainment districts. They are the humans who wander south of the river looking for more than an exotic experience or a one night stand. Youngjae had dealt with one before, back when he was just scraping by as a bartender at some shitty club in Apgujeong. The guy had come by almost every day, asking if Youngjae would go out with him, talking about how much he admired Youngjae’s powers, and how he wanted to see them “in real action” one day. He said that he was in love with Youngjae.

Youngjae knows better. Humans like that aren’t in love with mutants; they’re in love with the idea of them.

“Sorry,” Youngjae says. “I’m not interested.”

Daehyun’s face immediately drops, even though he does a valiant job of trying to hide it. “Yeah, okay, sure,” he replies. He grins again, and it’s probably supposed to look confident, but it wavers. “Sorry for bothering you.”

Daehyun hikes his guitar case up higher on his shoulder and quickly disappears into the stream of people running past. Youngjae watches him go and tells himself that it’s better this way, and he shouldn’t feel bad.

––

No one knows quite exactly when mutations first started occurring, or why. Some researches suggested atavism, proposing that the mutations were reemergences of traits that have been in human beings for longer than history can remember. Others theorized that the mutations are new, some sort of hyper-speed evolution in reaction to an unknown catalyst. Then, of course, there are also the whispers of conspiracies; of genetic engineering and government experiments gone wrong, with the test subjects either escaping or being released into the general population. 

Just about the only thing people _can_ agree upon is that the mutation genes are dominant. It wasn’t too rare, back when mutants were more scarce, for families with one mutant parent to have non-mutant children. But since the riots and separation of Upper and Lower Seoul, it has become less and less common to find non-mutant children being born south of the river. 

A child who is born unexpectedly without powers is called an “Anomaly.” In Lower Seoul, when a child receives the recessive non-mutant trait from two carrier parents, it usually isn’t noticed until the child is approaching their preteen years. The powers brought on by mutations start to manifest any time between birth and about eight years of age. Anyone who is ten years old and still not showing powers is presumed non-mutant, gathered up by the government, and shipped off to boarding school in Upper Seoul. Although these children are uncommon, they aren’t unheard of.

The term Anomaly is also applied to children with powers born in Upper Seoul, although Anomalies of this sort are much rarer. Technically the dominant mutant gene shouldn’t be present in non-mutants’ DNA; the only way for a mutant child to be born in Upper Seoul is if one of the parents is a mutant who has successfully hidden their powers well enough to escape notice. When such children are found, the government relocates them to Lower Seoul as soon as possible, and the family is put under immediate investigation. Where there is smoke there is a fire, so to speak.

For this reason, non-mutants who discover a mutant child usually turn them over without a fight, to make the already arduous process less difficult. Youngjae’s mother certainly hadn’t wasted any time in getting rid of him. He doesn’t remember much of his childhood in Upper Seoul, but he does remember that. He was only four years old when his mother found him carefully creating a fire in a woodblock tower for his firetruck toy to put out. She had screamed and gone into a panic, pulling Youngjae away from the flames and trying to stomp them out. He tried to tell her that it was alright, that the flames were his friends and they weren’t going to hurt him, and made some more to show her. Within a matter of hours he was being bundled into a car belonging to a government services officer.

One of the few things Youngjae will confidently say he is good at is survival. He survived bouncing from one foster family to another, he survived Lower Seoul’s shitty school system, he survived the string of even shittier jobs he found after graduation. He’s good at reading people, and tends to fit everyone he meets into categories. It might seem harsh to continue judging people by first impressions, but life is equally as harsh. This habit has saved Youngjae’s life more than once. 

The problem is that Youngjae relies so heavily on his instincts that when he’s wrong about someone it completely throws him off balance.

Youngjae runs into Daehyun near Nakseongdae station. Nakseongdae has become somewhat of a trendy residential area in the past few years. It’s on the main subway line, and far enough removed from the chaos of “tourist” areas of Lower Seoul to be deemed safe enough to raise children in. There is no good reason for any non-mutants to visit the area – there are few bars, no clubs, and only restaurants of the kind easily found anywhere in Korea. 

Youngjae doesn’t even register that someone is calling his name until Daehyun is next to him, out of breath from running to catch up. Youngjae blinks, then blinks again, but there is still a sweaty Daehyun bent over beside him, hands braced on his knees and hair in disarray.

“Hi,” Daehyun manages to pant out, staring up at Youngjae from beneath messy bangs. Youngjae stares back. Internally he’s a mess, brain trying to process the fact that Daehyun, that human who busks in Hongdae, is currently Daehyun, that human in a mutant residential neighborhood. Even though his mind is racing, Youngjae can’t think of any reason why Daehyun would be here. Even _Youngjae_ doesn’t have a particularly good reason to be here. He’d simply been visiting an old friend, a senior who had stuck up for him back in school, and her two little kids. Youngjae himself lives in Gangnam, where the apartment rental fees are lower in negative correlation with the higher crime rates. 

When Youngjae doesn’t immediately reply, Daehyun rushes to fill the silence. “I saw you from across the street,” he says, “and just, I don’t know, wanted to say hi… or something… yeah.” Daehyun slowly trails off as Youngjae continues to stare blankly at him. 

“What are you doing here?” Youngjae blurts out, and it sounds rude even to him. He’s not trying to be mean, he’s just still reeling from shock. The words have an immediate effect on Daehyun, who shrinks away slightly and moves his gaze from Youngjae to the ground. 

“My mom lives over that way,” Daehyun says. He waves vaguely to the buildings on his right. “It was her birthday yesterday, so I managed to get the government to give me a pass to come down.” 

“Oh,” Youngjae says. And then, because his mouth is still moving more quickly than his brain, “You’re a ‘Nom?” Daehyun visibly flinches at the word, and Youngjae immediately feels like an asshole. ‘Nom is the simplified version of Anomaly that gets thrown around the schoolyard as easily as, and sometimes accompanied by, mud or soccer balls. Children can be ruthless, and anyone different from the masses becomes an easy target. Youngjae should know. 

“Yeah, I’m–” Daehyun says, and gulps. His shoulders are hunched over now, hands shoved into his pockets. “I’m sorry for bothering you again,” he continues. “I’ll just go now.” 

“No, wait,” Youngjae says, immediately reaching out even though Daehyun hasn’t left yet. His hand hovers awkwardly in the air near Daehyun’s shoulder before he realizes what he’s doing and pulls it back. “I’m–” Youngjae starts to say, then stops. _I’m one too,_ he wants to say, but it sounds too much like an excuse. So instead he says, “I’m sorry, I’m being rude.”

Daehyun looks up again, and Youngjae tries to smile. He’s not sure how successful he is, but Daehyun smiles slightly back. “How about I buy you that coffee?” Youngjae finds himself saying. “As an apology.”

Daehyun’s smile widens. “Sure,” he says, “I’d like that.”

––

Daehyun turns into a veritable chatterbox as soon as he has some coffee in his system. He tells Youngjae all about his mother, his older brother, his pet cat. Youngjae doesn’t mind, really. He’s fine with listening and putting in a comment when necessary. Honestly, Youngjae spends so much time on his own that it’s nice to just sit and chat like this. Sure, he had just been visiting his old friend. But Sunhwa is married now, with two little ones to look after. They may have been close once, still are close, but it’s almost like they’re in two completely different worlds. Whereas Youngjae and Daehyun literally exist in different worlds, but somehow it feels like they’re on the same level.

“Can I ask you a question?” Youngjae asks when Daehyun’s chatter finally lulls. 

“Of course,” Daehyun replies as he reaches for his coffee cup. 

“Why did you start talking to me after performances?” It’s something that has been bothering Youngjae more and more the longer Daehyun talks. Daehyun has a mother and a brother who are mutants, and he went to school with mutants up until sixth grade. Youngjae had always assumed that Daehyun was just one of the mutant-philes attracted to Youngjae’s powers. Now that theory no longer makes any sense. 

“Because you’re hot,” Daehyun says, so frankly that Youngjae can feel his face heating up. “And you’re a good performer.”

“I thought you were only interested in my powers,” Youngjae admits. He’s practically burning with embarrassment now. “That you were just another person who doesn’t really think of mutants as humans.” 

Daehyun is silent for a moment, staring at Youngjae long enough to make Youngjae start squirming. “Of course I think of you as human,” Daehyun eventually says. “Mutations are just that – at the base we’re all the same flesh and blood.” He pauses again and bites his lip, as if considering his next words. “I would be lying, though, if I said your powers weren’t one of the things that pulled me in. Even when you aren’t using them, there’s something there in your eyes, some kind of fire.” Daehyun is blushing too now, but keeps pushing on regardless. “It’s like, I don’t know, like I can’t help but be drawn to it. I see that fire, and I want to play with it.”

It’s Youngjae’s turn to hesitate now, his fingers fidgeting with the cardboard sleeve on his coffee cup. “You know what happens to people who play with fire, though,” he says after a moment. He feels stupid saying this, like he’s some sort of walking cliche, but he pushes on anyway. “They get burned.”

“That’s okay,” Daehyun says. He’s grinning again. “I’ve always had thick skin.”

––

The next Saturday, Youngjae starts searching through the crowds for Daehyun as soon as Youngjae checks in with his guards. It doesn’t take long to find him – he isn’t too far away, sitting on the edge of some stairs belonging to a clothing store and playing out a simple tune on his guitar. He’s not performing, at least not yet, and no one has stopped to watch. 

Youngjae grins and concentrates on Daehyun’s guitar pick. He warms it up just enough that Daehyun yelps and drops it in surprise. 

“What?” Youngjae asks as he plops himself down on the step next to Daehyun, much to the ire of shoppers trying to get into the store. “I thought you said you had thick skin?”

Daehyun stares at Youngjae incredulously for a second with his mouth gaping open like a fish. “You’re mean,” he ends up saying, reaching for his pick. His voice is accusatory, but also amused, like he’s excitedly thinking about all the possible ways to get Youngjae back for his trick. 

A warmth floods through Youngjae that has nothing to do with the flames hiding beneath his skin. “You’re the one who wanted to get to know me,” he points out. He’s trying to keep a straight face, but there’s a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Daehyun reaches out to punch Youngjae’s shoulder, and Youngjae caves, breaking out into a laugh. Around them the night is dark, almost oppressive, but to Youngjae it seems like everything is slowly becoming brighter.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested in learning more about this verse, please check out [this post](http://yubat.tumblr.com/post/97371152249/this-is-a-post-about-incinerate-verse) that I made, as well as the comments section on here :) If there's anything you're still curious about, please ask!


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